


Epistolary

by westernredcedar



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: But these are just letters between Bitty and Jack, Developing Relationship, Discussion of mental illness, Fluff, Letters, Long Distance Relationship, M/M, More Fluff, discussion about being disenchanted with organized religion, mention of other characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-14 08:33:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10532763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westernredcedar/pseuds/westernredcedar
Summary: It's a long month between Jack's visit to Madison in July and Bitty's return to New England in August.So they write letters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is shameless fluff to satisfy my own desire to know how they might have filled the time between seeing each other in Madison and seeing each other in Providence after making their relationship official. Expect very little plot, just lots of character stuff. I'll update regularly, when I get through enough letters that it seems like a chapter's worth!

[plain white envelope, addressed to Eric R. Bittle, 525 Sunfield Ln., Madison, GA.]

July 6, 2015

Dear Bits,

I just said goodbye to you at security and I’m now at the gate waiting to catch my flight. I’m in a seat in the far corner of the waiting area. Less chance anyone will look at me and think I’m my dad. Or think I’m me, I guess. There’s about thirty minutes until boarding. 

I suppose that I’m not finished visiting you yet, since I’m still talking to you and it feels strange that you are not here getting on the plane back to Providence with me. I don’t think I’ve written a letter since I was seventeen when I used to write to my parents from roadies. I don’t know what you will think of it- I imagine you will think it’s ridiculous that I’m not just sending you all of these thoughts via text, or by live blogging my flight, but there’s something about holding this pen to paper that feels more like I’m talking just to you. Like you are with me. Stop rolling your eyes.

Here’s something I don’t think I’d ever get used to if I lived in Georgia- the transition from sweltering to air conditioning. It is ice cold in here, and now I’m sitting in a damp, sweaty t-shirt with cold air blasting on me. Actually, the air conditioning vent may be the reason no one was sitting in this seat, now that I think about it. I’m considering putting on a sweatshirt. Maybe I’ll take a walk instead, warm up.

Back. 

I stopped in the sports bar a few gates down and watched a few minutes of the Braves game. I could feel Shitty at my elbow the entire time, giving me the side eye and reminding me about native rights and misappropriation and stereotypes and I had to walk out. Can’t these teams get their shit together? I just wanted to watch some baseball.

I got your text. I’m texting you back right now. It’s slightly confusing. 

They are calling business class, so I’m getting on the plane to settle in. I guess I have to accept that I’m really going. I want to just turn around, leave the airport, and make my way back to you. 

 

About thirty minutes into the flight now, Bits. I’m thinking a lot about flying after our discussion yesterday. I’m by the window and that’s been great, since you made me want to look out and see what we’re flying over for the first time in years. I think I’ve just been on too many flights in my life- I forget to appreciate how amazing it is to be up here in the clouds. We are over some interesting coastline now, far below. 

I’m still reading that Lewis and Clark book, and looking down at the edge of the continent is making me think about how incredible it is that we had accurate maps before anyone was able to fly up in the sky and double check. Did you know that the L&C expedition mapped their entire route by dead reckoning and in the end they were only off by about 40 miles? 

I figured out right away that a few people on the plane recognize me- Providence folks- including the flight attendant. I passed her a note with my credit card and told her I’d pay for the snack packs for anyone in coach who wants one. Because honestly, Bits, I feel like such an ass that I assumed you’d flown in first class before, and that I'd never noticed I’ve never flown coach my whole life. Again, Shitty Knight would knock me to the ground (well, he'd attempt to) and lecture me about privilege. I’m trying. 

I’m going to read now, and watch the earth go by. I’ll send this when we land.

I’m in love with you.

Jack

*

[small mailing box addressed to Jack Zimmermann, 79 Washington Street, #701, Providence, RI. Enclosed: linen envelope with dark blue edging, Tupperware.]

July 8, 2015

Dear Jack,

Good lord, sweetheart! A handwritten letter! I hardly know what to do with myself. I feel like I’m in a movie starring Dame Judi Dench, with those high-waisted dresses and unflattering pants, where my letter to you needs to be sealed with wax. Shall I commence by saying it is ever so kind of you to initiate a correspondence, Mr. Zimmermann. I am truly honored by your attentions. And so forth.

Let me get this part out of the way to start: I’m in love with you too. It was just like you to bury that detail at the very end of your letter, mister, but I’m putting it right up front. I miss you every minute and you’ve only been gone for two days!! And we were on Skype twenty minutes ago. But it’s still true. And we are no good at saying things like that when we talk, so maybe this letter idea isn’t so harebrained after all. (It’s a little harebrained, sweetheart.)

As you will learn, even though I haven’t written a letter by hand since my tenth birthday thank you notes, I am supplied with enough monogrammed stationery to last through the next ice age, thanks to the gift giving habits of my many Georgia aunties who don’t know what to get for their confusing, figure-skating nephew. From just one auntie alone (Auntie Kay in Macon) I’ve received four different sets of monogrammed stationery (in this dark, manly blue). I assume she thinks each year I use up the set previous through my vast correspondence with people who don’t know my initials. Fact, is, if you don’t know my initials already, Jack, you’re sure as hell gonna know ‘em now.

I’ve enclosed a batch of plain ol’ chocolate chip cookies. I felt like going back to basics after you left, just recipes I know by heart and can make in my sleep. Mama says I’ve been moody and I’m afraid some of my mood may have crept into the cookies, so I’m sorry if they are not up to standard. I hope they survived the journey. 

Camp starts again next week, so I’m going to be all glitter glue, whipped cream fights, and “Michael, Row Your Boat Ashore” from here on out. I’m willing to try this whole “written word” thing for you, honey, as long as you’ll still Skype with me every night and text me every spare minute. Did I mention I miss you?

Love, Bitty

P.S. For future knowledge, you can’t casually mention yourself sitting around in a sweaty, clinging t-shirt and expect me to just read on past like that’s not something to consider. 

*

[Manila envelope addressed to The Bittle Family, 525 Sunfield Ln., Madison, GA. Enclosed: Greeting card envelope labeled to “Coach and Mrs. Bittle”, thick white envelope labeled to “Eric”.]

July 12, 2015

Dear EBR, 

The cookies were delicious. I met up with a couple guys for some shooting drills yesterday and brought the cookies along to share. You have several new fans.

The other card in this package is a thank you for your parents. I hope you don’t mind passing that on to them. They were so welcoming. Tell your dad again that the steaks were perfect. 

I hope camp is fun tomorrow. I'll be thinking of you. I never got to do anything like a regular summer camp with crafts and canoeing and archery and all that, so I’ll like hearing your stories. It’ll kind of be like being there.

Something interesting happened for me that I haven’t told you about yet. Alexei Mashkov (remember, Tater, the Russian d-man that Ransom is crazy about) is hosting a special training clinic he put together to focus on balance and flexibility. It’s a week long, and it’s just a few guys (four of us) that he invited, because it’s in his private gym at his house. He has someone Russian coming in from the New York City Ballet for a few days, and this guy Warren who he worked with in Vancouver. Turns out Mashkov struggles with leg strength versus upper body mass and has been working on balance for years and knows all of these great trainers and coaches. It’s cool. Anyway, he just asked me about it on Friday, and I said I’d join. Mostly I’m excited because it feels like a personal invite, that he’s liked what he’s seen of me so far. 

By the time you get this letter, you will know all about this, because I’m sure I’ll have a lot to say after the first day of the clinic tomorrow, and you won’t get this letter until Tuesday or Wednesday. Reading this will be a little trip back in time. I couldn’t find sealing wax.

There’s a lot going on here to occupy and distract me, but not enough. I’ve printed out and included four different possible itineraries for you to look at if you think you might really be able to come up a week early to visit. Just look at them when you have time. 

I love you.

Jack 

*

[linen envelope with dark blue edging addressed to Jack Zimmermann, 79 Washington Street, #701, Providence, RI]

July 16, 2015

Dear Jack,

You are the most ridiculous human being and I love you. You are aware, are you not, that when you create an itinerary on Expedia, there is a simple button that allows you to share it with another person without any effort whatsoever? Just a click? But who am I kidding? I love you and I’ve been carrying around those crazy printouts all week and peeking at them at the most inappropriate times (during morning prayers, when I should be monitoring the play field, during biffy duty, etc.) trying to figure out what schedule will work best for a visit, and what exactly I can tell my parents? 

On that note, I know this sounds paranoid, but Coach asked me about your last letter, because he thought it was odd that you’d sent me an entire separate thank you note for some reason. I explained it away, but maybe you can send your next letters to me at camp instead? I’ve stuck a camp brochure in so you can use the address. Just put attn: “Spoon” on it and it will get to me no problem. (No, I won’t tell you how I got my camp name yet. That’s, like, one-year-anniversary material at least.)

The non-competitive games station that I was telling you about has been a huge hit. I’ll run it again next week for sure. We did a cooperative challenge today where a group of kids had to get this marble to travel down a series of pipes and land in a bucket. They had to work together to move the pipes and align them before the marble fell off the end or they had to start over. That shit was hard! But those little munchkins were so proud of themselves when they got it to finally work, and hugged each other and me in a big huddle. I keep thinking about trying the same activity with the team back at school, but then I remember how hard it was and how I don’t want to die at the hands of very large hockey players. 

I hope you’ve survived the last day with Ludmila and the barre. I wish there was photo evidence. I’ll just have to be satisfied with my plentiful mental images for now, until I can see your plié in person.

I’m leaning towards coming up on August 7. Is that too close to your visit to Montreal? We can talk more tonight. 

I miss you and I’m thinking about you right now, as you read this. Really.

Love, Bitty

*

[postcard of downtown Providence, RI, addressed to Horizons Day Camp, attn: Spoon, 15 Lake Anita Rd., Madison, GA.]

July 18, 2015

"Spoon",

August 7. Yes. Or sooner. Details and real letter to follow. Wanted to make sure this address works. You know what I want to say, but can't. Your friend,

"Arabesque"

P.S. I will never tell you how I got that name.


	2. Chapter 2

[plain white envelope addressed to Horizons Day Camp, attn: Spoon, 15 Lake Anita Rd., Madison, GA.]

July 19, 2015

Dear Bits,

I’m glad the postcard reached you, Spoon. If you look closely at the picture of downtown Providence on the card, you can see the corner of my building, about halfway up on the right side. I should have circled it. I don’t know if you can tell what a good view it is of the river, but I’m looking out at it right now. The lights are on, and the sky still has a little light in it, and I can see people out walking together.

I really liked talking to you tonight. I didn’t want it to end. 

I keep meaning to ask- you mentioned prayers at your camp? I never thought about what kind of camp you work at. Sorry I never asked until now. Tell me more? I guess religion is something we’ve never talked about before, except that I know what you and I do on Sunday mornings, and since it’s not church I may have assumed. Do you even know my papa’s side is Jewish? No one in my family is religious though. We’re just sort of secularly, culturally a hockey family.

I almost have the guest room ready for Shitty. He says he’s arriving around four tomorrow, when I’m home from p.m. training. It will be interesting to be back to regular workouts after my week with Ludmila and Warren. All weekend Tater has been sending our group these videos of ballet dancers doing amazing shit. I went from not really caring about dance at all to thinking they might be some of the best athletes in the world. I’ll forward you a few of the videos. There’s one with three male dancers that I’ve watched a few times. I can’t believe what they are able to make their bodies do. Did you do a lot of ballet when you were figure skating? 

Shitty really wants to go down to Newport when I have the day off on Wednesday, and tomorrow we’ll go up to Federal Hill for dinner. I’m still figuring out Providence myself, so I’m not sure I’ll be much of a tour guide.

I keep thinking about how you don’t feel you should receive letters from me at your parents’ house. I don’t mind at all, I’m just thinking about it a lot. I wish you were up here already.

The sky is fully black now, and I need to get to sleep. 

I miss you, bud. So much.

Love, Jack

*

[light purple envelope with embossed silver sparkles, addressed to Jack Zimmermann, 79 Washington St.. #701, Providence, RI.]

July 21, 2015

Dear Jack,

I’m still in recovery from Skyping with you and Shitty. My chest hurts from laughing so hard, oh lord. I didn’t realize it was possible to miss people this much. 

I’d like to go down to Newport too when I’m there in August. You two made it sound so amazing, especially the cliff walk. Let’s add that to the list!

Also, goodness gracious, honey, bringing up religion so casually! So. Yes, Horizons is a day camp run by Madison First Baptist, which is the church my parents attend. Mama and Coach go every Sunday, and it’s kind of the hub of their entire social life, such as it is. I’ll be honest that I have no idea what either of them really _believe_. We don’t talk about that. Going to church is just what you do round here, and it’s what I did too. I was a fabulous shepherd in more than one Christmas pageant, I can assure you. Then when I was fourteen, I had to commit more time to skating, so I stopped going. God, Jack, I’ve never told anyone this before, but it was such a relief. I was feeling so judged all the time, and then after that we moved and there was hockey on weekends, and no one ever asked me to go back, so I didn’t. I don’t mind working at camp one bit- no one can see what I’m thinking in my prayers, and I adore corny Jesus camp songs and can make God’s Eyes with the best of ‘em. I guess I don't have one clue what I really believe right now, except that I’m pretty sure it doesn’t align with any major religion that I know of. I hope that’s not too shocking. I’m a little shocked with myself for actually writing it down.

I didn’t know I had much of anything to say on this subject, but I guess I did? 

Anyway, enough of that, I’d much rather talk about gorgeous male ballet dancers. I had to fan myself all through those videos, sweetheart, good lord I think you are trying to kill me! Keep ‘em comin’! Yes, I was in ballet for years- I asked to start when I was four but mama didn’t take me serious until I’d been asking for three years straight (three years gay?). I was always adequate as a ballet dancer, but not great- all of the extension and gestures and spins make more sense to me on the ice. Do you think your balance was improved? It would be easy to set up a barre at your place so you could keep on practicing (he says hopefully, imagining). 

After your last letter, I got myself in a huff and took all of my old Auntie Kay stationery to the thrift store and gave it away. I hope Erica Ray Bryant or Elliott Ralph Briscoe stop into the store soon, because they will hit the jackpot! Today I stopped at Paper Source and picked out this new stationery. I’ve always been more purple sparkle confetti than navy blue monogram anyway, and if people in my life don’t want to accept that, well then, fuck ‘em. 

I think I need to go bake something to clear my head, and then maybe talk to you again before bed? August feels so far away today. 

I love you to the moon and back,  
Bitty

*

[off-white greeting card envelope addressed to Horizons Day Camp, attn: Spoon, 15 Lake Anita Rd., Madison, GA.]

July 23, 2015

Bits, 

Hope you like the card. Made me think of you for some reason.

Had such a good day. There were just enough Falcs back in town today for training that after the a.m. workout we actually geared up and played a scrimmage. It felt so good, Bits, being on the ice and getting to know a little about these guys and how we will work together. I'm still a little high from it, you know. That sweet buzz. I missed you there, though. I kept passing it to you without thinking. 

What’s a God’s Eye? If you get me up to speed on Christian day camp, I’ll bring you to a Seder in the spring (papa’s best childhood friend Isaac usually hosts). But mostly we can both just not worry about having to know exactly what we believe right now, eh?

Did you ever organize that dinner with your old hockey friends? I keep meaning to ask you and then getting distracted when we are face to face. It sounded like a fun idea. 

I let management know I’m extending my vacation for a few more days so that I don’t have to go in at all for the first two days of your visit. My last workout is tomorrow a.m., and then my plane leaves for Montreal at 3 p.m. I’ll send you my full itinerary after I finish writing this, along with my parents address in Montreal. Just in case.

How did everything go with your parents and the trip? 

I love that you are purple sparkle confetti, Bits. I just hope you don’t mind that I’m usually pretty navy blue monogram.

Love, Jack

*

[padded express mail envelope addressed to Jack Zimmermann, 57 Place Belvedere, Westmount, QC, Canada. Enclosed: greeting card with image of worn ballet slippers, object made of yarn and sticks.]

July 27, 2015

Jack Laurent Zimmermann,

If you are going to send me every card you see with a picture of a pie on it and a bad pun inside, be prepared for an avalanche of cards with inspirational ballet quotes in return. This one is far too tasteful, but I’m still looking. The gauntlet has been thrown, my friend. 

I’ve enclosed a God’s Eye that I made for you. You’ll notice a subtle but thoughtful mix of Samwell and Falconers colors in the yarn. In my thinking, it was easier to just make you one than try to describe the damn thing. I gave up the games station to Logan this afternoon and set up a whole natural fibers craft station just to be sure I had time to finish it for you, honey. The sacrifices I make. Honestly.

You are in an entirely different country, and I know it shouldn’t matter, but it does. It feels different. I can usually fool myself that if I really need to I could just hop in the truck, crank up Sasha Fierce, and be in Providence in the blink of an eye. But driving to Canada seems daunting and fraught with perils. Like, having my passport. And the metric system. 

Okay, so you asked about Mama and Coach. Sigh. You know I love them both, but good lord, we are not the best at talking at each other directly. Mama cried when I told them I was leaving August 3rd (!), and went on for a spell about how little we’ve visited together all summer, but then she sobbed more about how she thought it was a great idea to get up to school early and get settled and that seeing friends is so important and on and on (all still while crying and blowing her nose, mixed message bonanza). Coach just nodded and asked me questions about pre-season. I’ve promised Mama an all-day baking fest together on Saturday before I leave, which will be wonderful and hellish because it is also supposed to break 100 degrees (ooo, what’s that in metric?) and having the oven on will be a very questionable choice, even for me.

Please advise: should I just pretend I have nothing planned for your birthday and surprise you, or do you want to plan together? 

It was fun to see your parents via Skype this morning. Hope I was appropriately dignified, though sweaty and late for work. 

I’m countin’ down the days, sweetheart. 

Love you,  
Bitty

P.S. Navy blue monogram suits me just fine, so long as it's a metaphor for you, JZL.


	3. Chapter 3

[Plain white envelope addressed to Horizons Day Camp, 15 Lake Anita Rd., Madison, GA.]

July 29, 2015

Dear Bits,

I can’t wait for you to come up here to Montreal with me soon. The metric system is easy- for example, it’s 27 degrees today, and I’m wearing shorts. You’ll get used to it. I started a list of things we should do when we can make it.

I’m sorry it has been tricky to talk since I’ve arrived. I miss you. Hopefully tonight. This will probably be my last letter until you are actually in Providence, though. Five days.

It’s obvious my parents are intentionally trying to be respectful of my life and not over-scheduling me while I’m here, which is frustrating because for the first time in a while, I’d actually be fine spending most of this trip just being ushered around by them to different events. The irony is, I wanted to be left alone for years, and now that they are treating me like a grown-up, I’m not really in the mood to be alone. The other morning I had to _ask_ to go with them to brunch because they were going to go without me so I could have some “time to myself” that I didn’t even want (you were at work).

Tonight is dinner with the ‘uncles’. It’s this group of four guys that my dad played with on the Pens. They were all single (except Papa) when I was born and I became like the mascot for them when I was small. They can be kind of overwhelming, but fun. Papa organizes a dinner about once a year. I expect lots of advice on how to make it through this first season, which will be great. I’ll get a photo with them all to send you, since I know enough to know you won’t recognize any of their names if I tell you. Yes, that's a chirp.

Yesterday I had all of my appointments: doctor, dentist, and hair (no selfie, I’m making you wait for the in-person). The main one was with Dr. Lindcom, my psychiatrist, just to double check and update my prescriptions. I see my therapist in Samwell, Sydney, about twice a month (did I ever tell you about her? maybe you can meet her next year), but Dr. Lindcom has been with me since I was twelve, and so she knows all of the history with my anxiety and rehab and all that. She still in charge of my meds and so I come see her twice a year at minimum- more if there's an issue. I guess I don’t really talk about this part very much, do I? I can more, if you need me to. 

Anyway, Dr. Lindcom was really positive and she didn’t think we need to make any changes, so that’s really good. I hate messing with meds because that leads to weeks where nothing is dosed right and I feel like hell. 

Seeing her and talking about how I’m doing made me think about the fact that you’ve never seen me in bad shape, Bits, not really. I hope I’m never that low again, ever, but it could happen. I’ll talk to Sydney about it and then maybe we can talk about it together? Like, what to do to get help if you need it and stuff. I’ve been so healthy, sometimes I forget. I don’t think I’ve ever just laid it out plain to you before, but I have a diagnosed mental illness called Generalized Anxiety Disorder and I need to have daily meds and regular therapy to keep my brain from folding in on itself, and I’m terrible at talking about it, but I don’t want to be. So let’s talk about it when we are together, eh? 

I’m going to hang the God’s Eye up when I get back to Providence. 

I’ve been running every morning to the playlist you shared, and it’s a little like you are there with me. Gives me energy- I did 10k this morning without hardly noticing. 

You don’t have to do anything special for my birthday, bud. Coming to visit is present enough. I won’t say no to a maple apple pie, but you get in on the day, so maybe we can celebrate the day after? 

A few weeks ago, I didn’t think next week would ever come. Love you. Soon.

Jack

* 

[purple envelope with embossed silver sparkles, sloppily addressed to Jack Zimmermann, 79 Washington St. #701, Providence, RI.]

August 1, 2015

Dear Jack,

I suspect you will get this letter when I am already there, sweetheart, so I’m just going to use this opportunity to say things I’m afraid I will be shy about saying out loud once we are together. That’s my plan! It won't hurt that I’ve currently had two and three-quarters wine coolers and my parents are out for the evening and you are on an airplane. So it’s just me and the hammock and the fireflies.

Here are some things drunk-in-a-hammock Bitty wants you to know, in case I haven’t said them yet in person:

Since yesterday, I’ve spent hours reading about anxiety disorders and I love you and I want to know everything I can to be there for you and help if I can. And sweetheart, thank you for telling me, I know that wasn’t easy!

I also do stuff like google your dad and read about his former teammates, and I maybe even find old articles that include pictures of you with all of them when you were eight, so maybe, possibly, I do know who your ‘uncles’ are, you smug bastard. So there.

Side note: You were adorable when you were eight!

Re: Your hair. I hope you got that really sharp edge shaved on the back of your neck, so that it’s all smooth skin and then there’s that ridge line of really short dark hair that feels like velvet (you had a haircut just before you came down here, remember? I remember). That’s what I hope.

On a related note, I want to have sex with you. I think about this all the time. Oh lord. Your body, skin. Your hands, honey. Have we had sex yet?? If I’ve been there more than like, two hours and we haven’t, please just jump me now. 

I’m baking one last batch of blueberry muffins with mama tomorrow after she’s home from church (we made four pies today, which was crazy extra, good god), and then I need to get all packed to go Monday morning! It’s so soon and also so far away.

But back to the point. If this letter is in your hands, I’m in Providence, so turn around and kiss me, please. Don’t lose your focus.

Oh goodness. No more wine coolers for me! I’m walking this down the post office before I chicken out.  
I love you,  
Bitty

* 

[yellow greeting card envelope with the name _Jack_ written in the center, hand-delivered, T.F. Green Airport parking lot]

August 3, 2015

Happy Birthday, sweetheart! I spent far too much time trying to find the absolutely perfect gift for you, but nothing was ever quite right. So now I’m flying towards you at hundreds of miles an hour, and all I can think of are things I want to be able to give you that I can’t wrap up with a bow. 

So, here are your presents.  
This card can be exchanged for any or all of the following at any time.

1\. Someone to be there when you need it, any time, always (in person, when possible)  
2\. Cheering section at home game (away game, if Boston)  
3\. Chirps (given or taken)  
4\. Make-out session in the kitchen (room negotiation available)

Home-cooked dinner with pie included with any of the above, at request or by surprise.

This is going to be the most amazing year, honey.

Love, Bitty

* 

[yellow post-it, folded over once, left on bathroom mirror, 79 Washington St. #701, Providence, RI.]

Bits,  
Just got your last letter when I picked up the mail. #4, please. I'm waiting by the barre.  
-J


End file.
